I was awarded a college scholarship for writing and won top honors for poetry contests in high school and college. Until this year,2010, I have not since shared my writing publicly. My first poem was published in a school newsletter at age 7. Around age 13, I started to journal in the form of poetry on a fairly regular basis. Years later, the thematic ebb and flow of my writing helped me to see the cyclical nature of my severe depression and ultimately combined with other facts to lead to the proper diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. As cooperating with treatment allows me to keep a more even keel of functioning and prevents the intrusive suicidal thoughts that once plagued me, I have no fear that treatment stifles my creativity.
I enjoy all manners of written expression, but am least skilled in journalism. I lack the ability to mentally prioritize and filter information. Everything seems important. I have trouble getting to the point. In general, I've been told that I often lack the ability to adjust the complexity of my language to the intended audience. I tend to be obsessive about scholarly writing, but less so otherwise. Even if I rework a poem a hundred times, I like the relative brevity of poetry because I'm impatient. I want to finish something, even if, as I said, I go onto revise it. I rarely create song lyrics from my poetry, but often am inspired in one fell swoop with words and music. Unfortunately, scribing one measure takes me an hour. So I write down the words and sing to myself from time to time. As they are hymns usually, I trust God will see a way for them to reach a broader audience if it's part of the Plan. As for writing in general, it is my own fear of rejection by 'pedestaled' editors and my lack of discipline which have primarily held me back. Here's to baby steps!
[reflecting on Psalm 49: 4-9, Matt 24: 37-44...*]
Why should I tremble as darkness falls,
when thieves of worldly riches strike?
...
My Very Dear Friend,
I don't know what to say, but I must say it
My Self is restless with words
so I will listen,
...
I see how it surfaced -
her festering desire to control,
her oozing need to live
in dreams and to deceive.
...
She wanted healing for them both.
Just once uttered pain subtly controlled.
Rarely feeling safe to want or need,
rejecting what hurt to think or believe.
...